A Kingpin’s Farewell: El Mencho’s Golden Coffin

El Mencho will be remembered for the violence he brought down on Mexico. As the co-founder of the Cártel Jalisco Nueva Generación, he built a structure that operated like a paramilitary force—trained crews, heavy weapons, discipline, and a willingness to hit anyone who got in the way.

But here’s what’s always stood out to me about Mencho: he was never an ostentatious narco.

I first really learned his name in the aftermath of his mentor, Ignacio “Nacho” Coronel Villarreal—the Sinaloa Cartel heavyweight the Mexican Army killed in Zapopan in July 2010. And over the years, through everything I’ve covered about Mencho, there was a consistent pattern: no public display of wealth. No fleet of Ferraris. No gold-plated rifles on Instagram. No designer costumes.

Rubén Oseguera Cervantes didn’t build his legend through shine. He built it through fear and results.

They called him “El Señor de los Gallos” (Lord of the Roosters) because he loved cockfighting. That nickname fits him better than anything else—ranchero pride, dominance, bloodsport. Mencho was a man who liked control, not attention.

Health Issues

From early in his reign as CJNG’s top boss, his health was always a concern. It’s been reported for years that he needed dialysis at some point. And deep in the sierra, in Villa Purificación territory, he had what locals and reporters called a “hospitalito”—a small, discreet facility built for one reason: to keep him alive and hidden.

This wasn’t charity, even if CJNG tried to sell it that way to locals. It was strategic. A white building, roughly 40 by 20 meters, with consultorios, a handful of beds (some reports say four to six), basic surgical areas, and equipment for dialysis and trauma care. Hidden off dirt roads, surrounded by trees, about 50 kilometers from Villa Purificación—CJNG country, the same region where they shot down a military helicopter in 2015—and roughly 250 kilometers southwest of Guadalajara.

When your health is your weak point, you plan differently. You think ahead. You control the final chapter the same way you controlled the rest.

At some point, Mencho reportedly ordered a casket built for himself—ready for when his time ran out.

So on Monday, March 2, 2026, his body was laid to rest in a gold casket, surrounded by thousands of dollars’ worth of flowers, family and friends, and a heavy military presence.

And the part that surprised me?

He didn’t do what most bosses do. No gaudy mausoleum. No oversized monument screaming his name into the landscape.

Even at the end, Mencho didn’t need spectacle. CJNG never did.